


are you lonely looking for yourself out there?

by surviving_and_thriving



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: (eventually) - Freeform, 5+1 Things, Angst, Gen, Getting Together, I promise, It gets happy at the end, M/M, POV shifts? we love them, because it is okay, but we're just gonna pretend that everything is okay, its gonna be okay, its sad alien hours up in this bitch, just FYI, last part is set after season 1, probably, they are all Friends and you Cannot stop me, this is set in high school, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-03-20 20:13:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18999700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surviving_and_thriving/pseuds/surviving_and_thriving
Summary: 5 times Michael refuses to let anyone help him and the 1 time he doesn'ttitle from Train's 'Drops of Jupiter'





	1. five times michael wouldn't accept help and the one time he did

**Author's Note:**

> Hey yall! What a milestone! My first 5+1 fic and my first RNM fic  
> We love it :)  
> +++  
> Also omg please ignore the joke I make about the temperature in Roswell. I'm from the south and was projecting my temps onto Roswell (holy shit y'all it gets down to the low 20s at night there). God bless.

1.

Max wasn’t exactly sure when the last time Michael had eaten a meal was, but it was definitely not in the previous 48 hours.  He also wasn’t exactly sure when his brother had last slept, but he was pretty sure it was nearing two straight days of no sleep.  

 

But they only had one more final, and then they could sleep and gorge themselves on an unholy concoction of fries and shakes from the Crashdown.

 

But all of that would have to wait until midnight tomorrow when their last AP tests were over.

 

Unsurprisingly, it is Michael who breaks first, slamming his Biology textbook closed and standing up.  

 

“I’m going to fail.  I’m just going to have to accept that now.”

 

Isobel smirks and highlights another passage in her Lit book.

 

Michael, ever dramatic, continues.

 

“I can’t read worth shit anymore.  I’m going blind. This is it. My last will and testicle,” he pauses, his brain catching up to his mouth.  “Wait, testament. Sorry, I’ve been diagraming anatomically correct reproductive organs for the last two hours.”

 

“Oh, Mr. Michael Guerin,” Max adopts a ridiculous falsetto.  “You always know just how to turn a lady on. Anatomically correct diagramming of sexual organs.”

 

Michael throws his book at his brother.

 

“God, why am I even bothering with human anatomy?” he says.  “For I all know our sexual organ could be totally different.”

 

“Well you and I can only vouch for one side of that argument,” Max says.

 

Both boys turn to their sister, equally terrifying smiles spreading over their faces.

 

Before they can even ask the question, Isobel raises a hand to stop them.

 

“I am _not_ discussing reproductive organs with you at,” she pauses to check her watch, “2 a.m.”

 

“Or ever,” she amends when Max opens his mouth again.

 

Michael’s eyes go wide when he hears the time.

 

“Shit, is it already that late?  I gotta go. Hank’s got a pretty strict curfew and I’m already late.”

 

Max and Isobel lock eyes before turning to Michael to offer for him to stay at their house for the night, but Michael is already on his way out the door.

 

“Not tonight, guys.  Don’t need any charity.”

 

And he’s gone.

* * *

 2.

Because of early morning football practices, Kyle is always at the school way before he ever needed to be.  Most kids head home to get changed or snag an extra thirty minutes of sleep, but Kyle likes the quiet and showers and changes at the school.  

 

He’s become so used to being alone in the mornings, that he is taken by surprise when he hears the muffled sound of someone crying in the bathrooms.

 

He walks over to the stall door and knocks, worried about the person inside.  He gets no answer and crouches down to check under the door. He spots a pair of beat-up converse, with the laces colored in with a sharpie.  

 

“Hello?” Kyle’s voice is, he will admit, slightly panicked.  He isn’t exactly an expert on comforting crying individuals in the school bathroom.

 

“I’m fine,” the disembodied voice says, “I’ll be out in a second.”

 

Kyle nods at that and settles down on one of the benches to begin undoing his practice pads.  He has almost shrugged out of his shoulder pads when he hears the stall door open. He forces the rest of the pads off, managing not to scream when a screw catches the exposed skin on his chest.

 

He looks up at the other boy and his breath catches in his throat.

 

“Holy shit.”

 

Michael Guerin stands before him, an impressive black eye decorating an entire side of his face, his lip split open, and dried blood cracking under what has to be a broken nose.

 

“Dude,” he begins, but Michael doesn’t give him a chance to finish.

 

“It’s fine.  I hit a door at home.”

 

“Did this door have hands and an anger issue?”

 

“Shut up Valenti.”

 

He brushes past Kyle before the other boy has the chance to offer his help.

 

Within seconds, he’s gone.

* * *

3.

Rosa was more than a little tipsy, but most of the people at this party had blown past tipsy, drunk, and wasted, and were well on their way to blackout.  

 

It seemed like the entire student body population had decided to go out after the final exam, flooding some random senior’s house, as her parents weren’t home.  It was unusually cold for Roswell in December, Rosa noticed as she stood outside, but the alcohol she had consumed was warming her up.

 

As she took another swig of whatever it was she was drinking, a body crashed into her.

 

She turned around, ready to give whoever had hit her an earful, but the words died in her throat when she saw the state one Michael Guerin was in.

 

He looked up at her from the ground, a glass of something suspiciously blue colored clutched in his hand.

 

Rosa pulled the boy up and grabbed Michael’s shoulders to stop him from falling, as he was leaning dangerously to the right.  

 

“Rosa, like, I have no idea what’s going on right now,”  he slurred before holding out his neon drink to her. “Want some?”

 

Rosa, who was probably drunker than she thought, took the drink without hesitation and downed it.

 

Whatever was in that drink hit her hard and fast.  She sunk down to the floor, pulling Michael with her.

 

“Wow,” she breathed.  “The stars are like, super pretty.”

 

Michael hummed a response that Rosa couldn’t quite make out over the thrum of the music and people inside.

 

She didn’t miss the next sentence, however.

 

“I think I’d like to visit them one day.  Maybe never come back. I don’t like it here much.”

 

Rosa was aware that this was probably not a conversation they should have sprawled out on their backs on a stranger’s porch, and she pushed herself into a sitting position.

 

Michael followed her, leaning against her shoulder.

 

She jostled his head with a little laugh.

 

“Want to elaborate, Michael?”

 

“I don’t belong here.”

 

She was shocked at that statement and Michael seemed to take the minute of silence that followed his sentence as a dismissal.

 

Before Rosa could stop him, he stood up.

 

“Okay,” Michael said, swaying from the left to the right to the beat of the music, “I’m gonna go dance.”

 

“Wait,” Rosa called out, but Michael had already disappeared into the crowd.

 

He was gone.

* * *

 4.

Liz Ortecho is not a big fan of Michael Guerin.  He is too loud at school, walks into every class late, falls asleep during their physics lectures, and outscores her on every test.

 

But when Michael stumbles into the Crashdown Cafe at 11 p.m. on a Sunday, she can’t help but worry for the other boy.  

 

He stares up at the menu and she wants to ask him what’s taking him so long to order.  He’s been here hundreds of times and has always, without fail, ordered Blue Moon burger with Scully's sweet potato fries.

 

This time, he only orders an Alien Apple Pie.  

 

“Two dollars,” she says, holding out her hand while punching his order into the computer.

 

She’s startled when lose change hits her hand instead of any bills.  She raises her eyebrows at him and counts the change.

 

Six quarters, three dimes, two nickels, and three pennies.  He’s seven cents short.

 

Michael looks down at his feet when she looks up at him.

 

“I know I’m short some,” he begins, but Liz cuts him off before he can continue with a wave of her hand.

 

“On the house.”

 

He gives her a small smile and heads to a table, his eyes immediately closing as he leans his head back.

 

Liz has heard the rumors that he has been living out of his truck for that last few weeks, but she hadn’t believed them until now.  He still beat her on tests, still joked around with the Evans twins, still was himself.

 

Except, she froze, they had a long weekend.  If Michael was living out of his truck, he probably lived on free school lunches.  And they hadn’t been in school since Thursday.

 

God, she thought, he probably hadn’t had anything to eat since then.

 

She squares her shoulders and makes his usual order, along with the pie.

 

When she brings it to him, his eyebrows crease in confusion.  

 

“I don’t need charity, Liz.”

 

She opens her mouth to protest, but he swipes the pie he paid for and leaves the rest of the food on the table, before vanishing through the door.

 

Before she can even get a word in, he’s gone.

* * *

5.

Maria has seen an inordinate amount of drunk people in the three hours she has been working at her mom’s bar.  

 

Yes, _technically,_  it’s illegal for an underage girl to be bartending, but they need the money.  Plus, Maria is able to people-watch, her favorite habit.

 

Her eyes are currently set on a figure slouched in a dim corner of the bar who has been there since she took over from her mom.

 

Once the bar slows down a bit, she makes her way over to the figure, partly because she wants to make sure the person isn’t dead and partly because she wants to know who it is.  Roswell isn’t that big and there’s a good chance that Maria knows who is sulking.

 

When Maria gets to the figure, she realizes that she _does_ know the person.  

 

Michael Guerin.

 

It’s more than a little concerning that he is in a bar past midnight while still in high school, but Maria has never been one to judge.

 

She double-checks that there isn’t anyone waiting for her at the bar.  When she confirms that most of the patrons are either passed-out or on their way, she sinks into the booth next to Michael.

 

He startles, seeming to have not noticed her until just now.

 

“What are you doing clogging up my bar, Guerin?”

 

“Having a birthday drink,” he says holding up a glass of clear liquid.

 

Maria’s eyes widen before he laughs.

 

“Not alcohol, DeLuca.  Don’t worry.”

 

She shakes her head.

 

“So, why are you out alone on your birthday, then?”

 

“No one to celebrate it with,” he responds with a cynical smile.

 

“Well then, let’s celebrate it!  Give me a few minutes to clear everyone out and clean up.”

 

She closes up the bar and grabs a full bottle of whatever is behind the counter and two shot glasses before returning to the table.

 

The two of them down a few shots each, then a few more.  They’re on the right side of intoxicated, warm with alcohol coursing through their bodies.  

 

They talk and drink well past the time Maria was supposed to be home.  When Maria mentions this fact to Michael, he apologizes and stands up to leave.

 

“Can I leave my truck parked outside tonight?  Not really feeling like driving anywhere tonight.”

 

“You can crash on our couch if you want.  Can’t be too terribly comfortable sleeping in your truck every night.”

 

With that last sentence, Michael shuts down.

 

He apologizes once again while leaving.

 

Before Maria can figure out what just happened, he’s gone.

* * *

 +1.

Alex is walking to his locker to store his books before his music class when he is hit with the desire for a nap.  It has been after a particularly rough day. He had two papers, a test, and a quiz today, which had left him running on about two hours of sleep.  It was times like this when he was on the brink of losing his sanity when he seriously considered quitting everything and becoming a musician as he had always wanted to.  He always mentally slaps himself after these thoughts, because he knows he needs school, he knows. It’s just, sometimes, when he looks at his guitar that he never plays as much as he wants, Alex can’t help but think of bigger things.

 

He nearly crashes into a trashcan, lost in his thoughts, and when he safely makes his way around the obstacle, he sees three familiar bodies walking in front of him.

 

Michael is complaining about something while Max and Isobel nod along patiently.  

 

He can hear bits and pieces from their conversation and he thinks it has something to do with the fact that Michael is sleeping in his truck and the weather is calling for a cold snap.

 

“It’s just one weekend, Michael,” Isobel pleads.  “Just one weekend inside with us.”

 

“I don’t need your help, Is, but thanks.  I’ll be fine on my own,” Michael responds, curtly.

 

“Michael,” Max starts, but Michael turns down a separate hallway, cutting the conversation short.

 

“It’ll be fine,” he calls to the twins, before making his way down the hallway.

 

Alex feels a little guilty for listening in on a private conversation, but more than a little uncomfortable with the idea of Michael sleeping outside on nights when the thermometer won’t hit twenty.

 

He turns down the same hallway as Michael, as he heads for the music room.

 

He pushes open the door, but his breath catches in his throat when he sees that Michael is in the room as well.  His breath catches again when Michael slips out the back door holding an old, dented acoustic guitar, his guitar.  

 

He waits a few minutes, half in shock half in confusion, before following the other boy outside to his car.

 

Alex isn’t really thinking when he offers the toolshed behind his house as a place for Michael to sleep.

 

But Michael accepts.


	2. and one more time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahahahahaha i know i promised a part two in MAY but i was in a different state all summer for an internship and did not have wifi or the time to write, but i am back in college now so we should be good (i say, terrified for classes to start and homework to pile up)
> 
> also this is very short, i apologize. i felt so bad for making yall wait so long.
> 
> ANYWAY, here is the much happier sequel to my first part :)))
> 
> I hope yall enjoy :))))

Getting ready for any event was stressful for Michael.  After years and years of being the “disgrace of the town, Mr. Guerin,” according to any and every officer that scooped him off the floor of the Pony, going out in public was a daunting event.  Especially when it was with someone as respected, and attractive, as Alex Manes.  

He kept trying to style his hair, but as curly hair so often does, the messiness just wasn’t going to go away.  Huffing, he slammed the battered old cowboy hat he had dubiously _acquired_ from a drunk guy in a bar one night and declared himself fit to face Roswell.

For the amount of time he had spent trying to look nice, Michael was convinced that he wasn’t ever going to look like anything but a dirt-covered, raunchy, cowboy.

He didn’t want to embarrass Alex.

It was a given, Michael thought, that Alex would be embarrassed by him, the only question was if he was going to stay.

In theory, they had worked out the whole abandonment/embarrassment thing, but in actuality it was simply a subject that the two of them danced around, brushing over the topic a few times a day only to run back to safety the moment it seemed a real conversation would happen.

Michael and Alex’s relationship had never been, and probably never will be, a typical and standard relationship, but, sometimes, when Michael watched the easy conversation between his brother and Liz, he craved normalcy.

For Max and Liz, it was easy to overlook ten years of pining.  It was easy to overcome two deaths. It was just _easy_.

Nothing about Michael and Alex was easy.

It isn’t easy to overcome someone leaving the country for ten years.  It isn’t easy to overcome someone drowning in booze every night. It isn’t easy to overcome abuse.

Maybe, Michael thinks, maybe that’s why he turned to Maria.

Maria was nice and predictable and _easy_.  And when Max was dead, that’s what Michael needed.  And, God, does he feel awful about it. Michael had essentially used her until he didn’t need easy anymore, then moved on.  

And Maria, sweet, beautiful, and understanding Maria, had been the one to tell him to go.

Michael didn’t know if he could ever forgive himself for that.  Maria _never_ should, but she had.

And he did love Maria, and he always would, but Michael’s life was not meant to be easy.  

After all, nothing about it had been easy.

Sometimes, Michael wished he wasn’t damaged goods.  Maybe he would be easier to love and harder to leave if he wasn’t so weak internally.  Because, he mused, it is much easier for a building standing on a broken foundation to crumble and it’s much easier for the residents to leave.  So the same should hold true for a relationship.

Michael can feel himself spiraling down into dangerous thoughts, ones that will make him take off his hat and not show up at dinner.

But his phone rings and halts those thoughts.

“Michael, I can hear you thinking from miles away.  You’re giving me a migraine and it’s been a long day.  I love you. And, yes, idiot brother, you _are_ loved.  Go to dinner and _stop_ thinking so hard.”

The call disconnects with a loud click.

Ah, Isobel, Michael thinks, ever eloquent and caring.

Still, he stands up, shoves his feet into his boots and heads for his truck.

* * *

Alex had convinced him to meet at the Mexican restaurant they had decided on, but Michael was rethinking his agreement as he walked into the restaurant alone.

He rethought it even more as the waitress sat him at a booth meant for two, alone.

By the time the waitress has plopped a basket of over-salted chips on the table, he was positive he should have just stayed home alone.  

He angrily snatched a chip, upsetting the basket and knocking it into the pitcher of water, which promptly spilled all over the table.

The waitress ran over and started cleaning everything up while everyone in the restaurant stared at Michael.

Once his mess had been cleaned, Michael shook his head and made to stand up.  Alex wasn’t coming and now all of Roswell had been reminded of his status as trouble.

“Need some help with that, Cowboy?”

Michael turned, smiling at the sound of Alex’s voice.

“Thought you were gonna abandon me here for sure, Private.”

Michael tried to hold his voice steady, but, if anyone listened closely (as Alex always had), they could hear the fear undercutting the joke.

“Got caught up at work, I’m sorry.”

Michael shrugged, “All good now.”

“So, Guerin, need some help finishing up those chips?”

“I would _love_ some help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tell me what yall think! and again, so beyond sorry for how long this took and for how short it is.
> 
> come say hi on my tumblr!!! @rabrooks34!!! its alien-themed!!!

**Author's Note:**

> I have a final part that would take place in the present and make everything just a little bit happier, so let me know if y'all want to see that.
> 
> Let me know what you think because I am a hoe for comments <3
> 
> Come talk to me on Tumblr @rabrooks34


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